


deterrent

by bronigiri



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Confessions, Humor, Love Triangles, M/M, Multi, Pining, alternatively titled: sakusa has a boner for osamu and a hateboner for atsumu, mentions of ushisaku
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-18
Updated: 2020-09-18
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:13:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26523490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bronigiri/pseuds/bronigiri
Summary: Miya Osamu is everything Miya Atsumu is not. Maybe that’s why Sakusa is so attracted to him.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Miya Osamu, Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi, Miya Osamu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 12
Kudos: 127





	deterrent

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wafflepancake](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wafflepancake/gifts).



> Thank you to the lovely wafflepancake for the request! <3 This fic was a lot of fun to write, and the result is something best summed up in the words of Ellie Chu: “This is not a love story. At least, not one where anyone gets what they want.”
> 
> (In case anyone missed the tag, this fic contains Atsumu/Osamu. Please don't read if that's not your thing.)

The first time Sakusa is invited over to Onigiri Miya, it’s with the rest of the Jackals after their victory against the Adlers. “My treat,” the other Miya had said— at that point Sakusa knew him only as the other Miya, the slightly quieter one without the tongue constantly hanging out of his mouth. “I’ll make ‘em fresh for everyone, so tell me what flavors ya like.” 

He sat at the counter, tuning out Bokuto and Hinata’s animated play-by-play of the game to his left. To his right, Atsumu had left him alone for once to chat with Tomas. In the silence, Sakusa alternated between staring down his cup of tea and watching Miya Osamu work.

There was something about the way he was washing his hands so thoroughly and methodically that captivated Sakusa. Twenty seconds— yes, Sakusa was counting. Pleased that Osamu was following the necessary standards of the food industry, Sakusa almost didn’t notice how his sleeves were pushed up to reveal surprisingly muscular arms, maybe even more so than Atsumu’s. Sakusa’s eyes drifted up and down, noting that quitting volleyball hadn’t diminished his figure at all. There was something attractive about the close-shaved undercut at the nape of his neck, the apron tied at his waist, that Sakusa couldn’t take his eyes off of. And then Atsumu said something, and Osamu turned around to laugh, and Sakusa’s heart forgot to beat for a second.

As if seeing Sakusa for the first time just now, Osamu paused to look at him. “Hey, what flavor onigiri? Everyone else gave me their preferences n’ all, but I don’t think I got yours.” 

“I,” said Sakusa, throat feeling tight. “I don’t… I’ll pass.” He’s never been ashamed of his habits, even knowing they differ from the norm, but when the smile faded from Osamu’s face, he almost wanted Osamu to make onigiri for him. 

“He doesn’t like eatin’ stuff other people’ve touched. Germs, n’ all.” Atsumu said.

“Oh, don’t worry about _that._ C’mon, I’ll make you a special ochazuke. No one’s goin’ home on an empty stomach, yeah?”

“...Alright.” 

So he watched Osamu prepare the ochazuke. Scooping rice into a bowl, carefully breaking the salmon into pieces, pouring in just the right amount of tea and sprinkling nori on top. Sakusa never particularly had an interest in cooking beyond what was needed, but Osamu handled the food the way that a pro volleyball player might handle a ball— like it was made for him, like he knew exactly what to do with it. 

Osamu pushed the bowl in front of Sakusa, and grinned again. There was something softer in his smile compared to the almost feral grin Atsumu always wore. Well, Sakusa supposed, one twin had to have a _normal_ range of emotion.

“Eat up, Sakusa. Let me know if ya like it.”

Sakusa scooped a spoonful into his mouth, and something inside him melted. He didn’t recall ever having ochazuke this good. It’d always been one of his comfort foods, but this particular bowl felt… soothing. Nostalgic, somehow, for something Sakusa didn’t know he missed. Warmth spread through his belly, and crept up to his chest. He looked at Osamu, and said, “It’s good.”

So that was it. That was all it took. It was like Ushijima’s pocket handkerchief in middle school, all over again. If they ever got married (no kids, two cats), he’d tell their friends the story of how he fell for Miya Osamu because he washed his hands for twenty seconds.

* * *

Ever since that night, he’s been back religiously every week. Every week, he’s greeted by that genuine, warm smile. The pleasant laugh and the “alright, one Sakusa special comin’ right up,” that felt like an inside joke, for his ochazuke was off the menu and made to order. 

Now, Sakusa watches him prepare the special ochazuke, and thinks to himself that Miya Osamu is everything Miya Atsumu is not. He washes his hands for at least twenty seconds, whereas Atsumu shakes them dry, childishly spraying Bokuto in the face. He’s authoritative but patient with his employees, unlike Atsumu who barks at Hinata for flubbing a spike. While Atsumu’s accent sometimes makes his speech incomprehensible, on Osamu it adds some sort of manly, rugged charm. _Sakusa._ Just hearing Osamu say his name makes Sakusa feel things he didn’t even _know_ he could feel. 

Sakusa would have a hard time believing Osamu and Atsumu were twins, if it weren’t for their identical faces, and the way they got along like they’d known each other forever. Maybe that’s why Sakusa is so attracted to him. That Atsumu and his antics hadn’t soured Sakusa’s impression of Osamu by association was nothing short of a miracle, and truly a testament to Miya Osamu’s impeccable disposition.

“So, how was practice?” 

Sakusa takes a bite. “You’ll hear from Atsumu, I’m sure.”

Osamu chuckles. “He tells stories like he’s drunk off his ass at a bar and talking to a bartender. He thinks the bartender is into him, but she really just wants to go home. I’d rather hear it from you.” 

Sakusa Kiyoomi does not smile, but something akin to amusement twitches at the corner of his mouth. “It was alright. The hybrid serve he pulled off at the game, he’s regressed on that a little, and it’s pissing him off.” 

“Ah, have fun dealin’ with that.” 

Sakusa takes another bite. “Any tips from the master himself?” 

Osamu looks thoughtful. “Well, the hybrid serve is a mix of the spike serve and the jump floater, but with the same number of steps as the jump floater, right? But he tends to overdo it with the spin to make up for the lack of steps. Just a little, not enough for anyone to notice but himself and me, I guess. I wonder if he’s subconsciously tryna copy your spin.”

Sakusa had meant to ask for tips on dealing with Atsumu, not on the serve itself. But he can’t say he’s not intrigued by the fact that Osamu still keeps up with volleyball. 

“What?” Osamu raises an eyebrow. “I still play. Recreationally. Just with the neighborhood dads and uncles. They’re actually pretty damn good, though. If ya wanted, we could go together sometime. How about it?”

“Yes?” Sakusa’s voice cracks embarrassingly. As if he could say no to that smile. “I mean. Yes. That could be arranged.”

Not that Sakusa has much experience with relationships, but this feels almost like _flirting_. Still, having come here alone for weeks, it remains to be seen whether Osamu’s effortlessly sexy smile is in fact reserved for Sakusa alone. The thing is, it’s impossible to tell if Osamu is interested in him. The care he puts into making food extends to everybody else, too. Every single customer that comes in leaves with a full stomach and a satisfied smile. But no one else gets the Sakusa special. No one but him.

Sakusa steels himself and clears his throat. It’ll be just like ripping off a bandaid. “Miya—” 

“Jeez, how many times have I told ya to call me Osamu?”

“Osamu. Sorry.” Sakusa clears his throat. “I wanted to say that I—” 

At that precise moment, Sakusa’s phone rings. 

Osamu gestures for him to pick up. “Go ahead.”

“Sorry.” Sakusa excuses himself and picks up. 

_“Kiyoomi-san!”_ It’s Hinata. _“I need your help. It’s an emergency!”_

Sakusa grits his teeth. “Sorry, I’ve gotta go.” 

He shoves some cash at Osamu, who shoves it back at him. 

“We’re friends, don’t worry ‘bout it.”

_Friends._

He pockets the cash reluctantly, exits the shop, and addresses Hinata over the phone. “What’s the problem?”

“It’s, uh, Atsumu. He’s drunk and he won’t get off my doormat. I can’t leave my house. Oh, he’s also yelling your name a lot? I think he wants to see you.”

Sakusa breathes in deeply, holding it for seven whole seconds, and breathes out again. Keeping his murderous impulses at bay.

“Fine. I’ll be right there.” 

* * *

What happened did not constitute an emergency. In fact, it was not even on the top twenty list of things Sakusa would classify as emergency-adjacent. By the time Sakusa arrived, Atsumu had sobered up a little. With Sakusa’s help, the two of them managed to carry him onto Hinata’s couch. Atsumu had entirely forgotten why he wanted Sakusa to show up, and started looking at cat videos with Hinata, so Sakusa took it as his cue to leave.

A week passed in the blink of an eye. Looking at his phone calendar, Sakusa realizes that this day marks officially three months since he’s met Osamu. Today. He’ll say it today. His botched confession courtesy of Atsumu had just been a little pebble in the path, and if Osamu accepts, then that incident will be nothing but a bad memory. Sakusa Kiyoomi is nothing if not determined to finish a job once he’s set his mind to it.

He enters the shop, and Osamu gives him an enthusiastic wave and heart-stopping smile. He turns to the rice cooker and grabs a bowl, ready to prepare ochazuke just like usual. 

“Wait.” Sakusa says. “Before you do that.”

Osamu looks at him with curious eyes. Sakusa leans over the counter and, with all the force he can muster, places a hand slowly on Osamu’s lower arm. This is as much voluntary human contact as he’s allowed himself in a long while. But Osamu’s skin is warm beneath his. Up close, his brown eyes are a shade warmer than Sakusa remembers, blown wide with what seems to be pleasant surprise.

Ripping off a bandaid, Sakusa tells himself. Deep breath in, deep breath out. 

“Miya. I like you. Will you go on a date with me?”

And then, in a stomach-lurching, awful twist of events, the person he’d thought was Osamu rips off his hat to reveal a head of blond hair.

“Really? Oh my God,” says Atsumu. “I knew it! I knew you liked me back.” 

His eyes are shining. Sakusa can feel the life draining out of his body. 

“I,” Sakusa starts, but Atsumu cuts him off. 

“I’ve been obsessed with you for so long, what the hell! I thought ya’d never notice. Anyway, I’ll have to check my schedule— which is basically our schedule, mind ya, look at us, so in sync already!— but I think I’m free this coming Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday, and—”

“Miya. Stop.” Sakusa holds up a hand. “I didn’t mean to confess to you. I thought you were Osamu.” 

In another world, Sakusa might feel bad about the way Atsumu’s face falls, but in this one, it is the second time Atsumu has ruined his confession, so he doesn’t.

“Why are you even _here?_ Don’t you have better things to do than impersonate your twin?”

“Because— because ‘Samu was sick, and normally I’d just leave him there to rot, but today’s a Wednesday and you’re always here on Wednesdays so I figured it’d be nice ‘ta spend time with you off the court. Romantic, right?” Atsumu winces at Sakusa’s non-reaction. “No? Jeez. You’re stone cold, Omi.” 

Sakusa grunts in frustration and puts his mask back on, wanting to crawl into a hole and never come out. “Alright, well. If Osamu isn’t here, then I’m leaving.” 

“Wait!” Atsumu reaches over the counter and grabs Sakusa by the sleeve. “Just— just hang out here for another half an hour, alright? I’ll take ya to him after the shop closes.” 

“Why would you do that?” 

Atsumu shrugs. “You like him, right? Don’t ya want to tell him how ya feel?” 

It’s oddly sincere, coming from Atsumu. Sakusa swallows, and nods. 

“Okay. I’ll wait for half an hour.” After a beat, he tacks on, “Thanks. Atsumu.” 

* * *

As promised, Atsumu brings Sakusa back to his and Osamu’s shared apartment. One look at Osamu on the couch with the cooling pad stuck to his forehead makes Sakusa feel a confusing burst of emotions.

Sakusa has always thought of sick people as nothing but absolutely disgusting, snot-nosed germ-carriers. And yet, looking at Osamu bundled under the covers, eyes half-lidded with fatigue and nose adorably red, Sakusa still wants nothing more than to kiss him right there on the mouth. 

This day truly is the seventh layer of hell. 

“How do you feel?” Sakusa asks.

Osamu only grunts in response.

Sakusa places the phone he’s been carrying on the coffee table, and kneels down in front of Osamu. He reaches out a hand, ungloved, unprotected, and touches Osamu’s forehead. _That’s_ how much he likes him, even after suffering humiliation twice at Atsumu’s hands. 

“It seems like your fever’s going down. That’s good.”

“Course it is, I’ve got a coolin’ pad stuck on there.”

Even when sick, his voice does tingly things to Sakusa’s heart. It’s not an ideal situation. Hell, Atsumu is right there. But if he doesn’t say it now, he’s never going to say it.

“When you’re feeling better, we can go for that volleyball game you were talking about.” 

“Oh, that’d be great. Somethin’ to look forward to.” 

“And then after, maybe we could grab dinner.” 

“I make dinner for ya every week.” 

“No, I mean—” Sakusa’s heart pounds in his ears. “I’d like to ask you on a date.” 

In Sakusa’s peripheral vision, Atsumu looks pointedly away. But all he can see is Osamu. His face goes from surprise, to something almost… sad. 

Oh. 

Oh, no.

“Sorry,” says Osamu. He shifts a little, unwrapping the blankets around himself, looking serious. “You’re a good guy, Sakusa. But I like someone else.” 

Sakusa swallows past the dryness in his throat. “I see.” 

It's fine. Ripping off a bandaid has to hurt inevitably. Furthermore, he never had any actual proof that Osamu felt the same about him. A bowl of ochazuke, an invitation to partake in friendly neighborhood activities. Sakusa has handled rejection before. He would be fine.

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” 

“... If you don’t want to play volleyball anymore, we can cancel.”

“No, that’s fine. I want to.” 

Osamu smiles apologetically. “Yeah? Okay. I’ll see you then. Hopefully this nasty cold’ll be gone by then.” 

“Hopefully.” 

Sakusa nods, and nods goodbye to Atsumu too, before putting his shoes back on and taking his leave. 

It’s halfway down the street that he remembers: he left his phone on their coffee table. He makes a u-turn and heads right back, ready to embarrass himself in front of the Miyas for the third time today. 

When he gets there, he realizes that he hadn’t closed the door properly. It’s still ajar. He knocks anyways out of politeness, but gets no response, so he tiptoes in. From where he’s standing at the entrance of the apartment, he catches sight of Osamu and Atsumu in the kitchen. Osamu’s dropped the blanket, but the cooling pad is still stuck to his head, making him look a little bit childish as he says, “You can’t _do_ that. You can’t pretend to be _me.”_

“What? You asked me to help out at the shop.”

“I didn’t ask ya to hit on _Sakusa._ That’s fuckin’ low, ‘Tsumu. Did ya know he liked me, too?” Osamu steps closer, closer, backing Atsumu up against the kitchen counter. “Did ya bring him here so I could turn him down?”

At Atsumu’s silence, Osamu grips a fist in the collar of Atsumu’s shirt. “Son of a _bitch_.”

“Hey, don’t insult Mom like that!” 

“I wish we were never brothers.” 

“Ya think I don’t wish that every damn day of my life?” 

“Not for the same reasons I do.”

Neither of them have noticed Sakusa, hovering awkwardly in their doorway. He’s about to clear his throat and announce his presence when Osamu does something so jarring he nearly doubles over. Hand still fisted in Atsumu’s shirt collar, he smashes their lips together. 

It’s as heated as it is angry. Atsumu squirms under him, trapped against the counter. Osamu turns the kiss into something softer, almost sweeter, swiping his tongue against Atsumu’s bottom lip. Atsumu trembles for a moment before stiffening and trying to yank his head away.

“Mmh— ‘Samu—” Atsumu’s pushing at Osamu, but Osamu isn’t letting up, deepening the kiss like nothing is happening.

“‘Samu— _Stop.”_

Atsumu manages to shove Osamu away, and catches his breath. There’s a flush on his cheeks.

“I told ya, we’re not kids anymore. You’ve got to stop doin’ things like that.”

Osamu is still. A shadow cuts across his face.

“We’ve got to find people that aren’t each other. Ya hear me?” 

A vein pops in the side of Osamu’s head as his jaw clenches. Slowly, though, his body grows less tense. Resigned. After a beat, he steps back, and spits out one word. “Fine.” 

Something twists in Sakusa’s chest. He knows that emotion better than anyone, having had a taste of it earlier today. It’s heartbreak.

He remembers the look on Osamu’s face as he’d turned him down. Apologetic, but sincere.

_Sorry. You’re a good guy, Sakusa. But I like someone else._

It all clicks into place, like the missing piece of a jigsaw puzzle. The finished picture, though, is not something Sakusa wants to look at.

Slowly, step by single step, he backs out of the apartment. He closes the door behind him.

He’ll get his phone from Atsumu some other time. 


End file.
